


coconut, coconut, coconut, crack

by Magpied_Spider



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Coconuts, Gen, Humor, these are young men there are going to be dick jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpied_Spider/pseuds/Magpied_Spider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>And in much the same way that Laurens had been surprised and bewildered at Alexander’s discomfort in a horse’s saddle, so too was Alexander bewildered when what he would have considered common knowledge was unknown by his fellows.</em><br/>Take, for example, what only became known as the Coconut Incident.<br/>OR<br/>All the aides are given a coconut. No-one knows how to open the damn things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coconut, coconut, coconut, crack

**Author's Note:**

> for procellous, who said "the aides-de-camp are a bunch of guys most of whom are in their twenties THEY WOULD ABSOLUTELY MAKE THE DICK JOKE"

There were a number of times Alexander found himself all too aware that his upbringing, compared to the other aides-de-camp, had been atypical: his fellows gathered around the campfire, reminiscing about their schooling in Europe; the way they would name-drop relevant names of senators or others funding the war effort with comments on their table manner or food preference; the way they navigated through high society with an ease that Alexander, with his hours upon hours of study and work, never quite felt he had a grasp on.

With the constant reminders of his own ignorances, of inadequacies born not of failure to research or read, but a mere accident of birth, it was easy for him to forget that such a thing ran both ways, that there were secrets in Alexander’s knowledge and skill-set that one would otherwise be hard-pressed to find in Washington’s staff, though none of them had yet been called upon - after all, there was little cause for ability to sail a rickety one-person boat through the water, or identify on sight a worthwhile shellfish to collect from the shore for a meal, or crack open a coconut for a refreshing drink after a hot day.

And in much the same way that Laurens had been surprised and bewildered at Alexander’s discomfort in a horse’s saddle, so too was Alexander bewildered when what he would have considered common knowledge was unknown by his fellows.

Take, for example, what only became known as the Coconut Incident.

It had never been made clear how the coconuts arrived - some said it was one of the barons, spending money on a frivolity intended to boost morale; others said they had been intercepted from a British supply line - but in any case, arrive they did, and each member of Washington’s staff came into the possession of one.

They thanked the general, and, as this was one of the few times where there seemed to be nothing to do - no letters to write or translate, no maneuvers to plan, no drills to repeat - the aides, one by one, gathered around the fire-pit that had become their de facto place of recreation, and they began their plan of attack.

“Have you encountered such a fruit?” Lafayette asked the group at large, which responded with variants on the negative. “Nobody?”

“Where’s Hamilton?” Laurens, examining the faces of those around him. “Has anyone seen the man? He might know.” Hamilton had been in the tent when they’d acquired the coconuts, but had evidently elected to return to his tent - likely to write something that needn’t be dealt with for more than a month, for the man seemed to operate under the impression that if he did not do twice the work of another aide, he would be dispensed with.

“Never mind him,” Tallmadge said - with a murmur of agreement from the others, who were all to used to Hamilton’s tendency to avoid social gatherings in favor of the company of his books, “Let us find a way to deal with these fruits.”

For deal with them they must - they had been a gift, and if they went unused and uneaten, it would be not only a waste, but a waste flavored with rudeness.

Laurens tossed his coconut from hand to hand, considering the green fruit, examining it for clues as to how one might approach it. He brought it to his face, smelling it, considering.

Meade proposed that he take a bite of it. “As if it’s an apple, or some other fruit.”

“Some other fruit, like an orange?” Laurens resumed tossing it, rolling it with his hands. “I suspect we may have to peel it.”

Tilghman scraped at his own fruit with his nails for a moment, hoping to catch some edge, before producing a small knife. “Does anyone wish to volunteer theirs to be sacrificed for the good of the rest?”

His remark drew a laugh, but no volunteers, so he gamely placed his own fruit on one of the wooden blocks that served as a seat, and pressed the knife to its skin, where it slid right off. With a huff, Tilghman made another attempt, this time managing to break through the outer part of the coconut, only to find the progress of the knife halting as he encountered an obstruction of some kind.

He managed to lever the knife out of the coconut. “Anyone else want to have an attempt?”

“No, I’m quite content to watch,” Tallmadge countered, to laughs of agreement from Lafayette and Meade.

“I will gladly join the fight,” Laurens replied, and so Tilghman tossed him the partially-cut coconut, followed by the knife, Laurens catching both with ease.

Approaching the cut already made, Laurens made his own slice at an angle, removing the green and revealing a pale interior. He held one of the slices out with his knife. “Is this the flesh, do you think?”

“I’m not going to be the first to try,” Lafayette replied, followed by a rush of “nor me”s  that left Laurens the last man to disclaim.

He examined the piece of coconut with heavy suspicion, before - after some goading -  taking an experimental nibble.

Laurens made a face. “I don’t think this is the part that is meant to be eaten - or if it is, I feel a great swathe of pity rise in me for those living in the West Indies, who must partake of it on a regular basis.”

“It cannot be nearly as poor fare as you say,” Tilghman scoffed, before taking a bite of one of the slices. The expression that ran across his face quickly assured the rest that it was, in fact, exactly as bad as Laurens had declared.

“Give it here,” Tallmadge demanded, and so, knife-embedded, the fruit was tossed over. “Perhaps it has numerous layers, like an onion, and it is only the core that is edible.” He made a stab at the fruit’s middle, and wiggled the knife back and forth in an attempt to cut further in, while narrating his progress. “There’s something hard - perhaps a seed?”

Meade gave a leer. “If it’s hard, be gentle with it, and it might release the _seed_ of its own accord.”

The leer devolved into a cackle, which was quickly taken up by all the men save Lafayette, who seemed to understand that a joke had been made, but not the nature of the humour. Laurens, in response to the query, promised to explain it later that night.

Tallmadge returned to the venture of opening the coconut, driving in the tip and sawing the knife back and forth. He went to remove it to make a second stab, only to frown. “It’s stuck.”

Not to be outdone by Meadee, Tilghman jumped in with a rapid “as found the dog when he--”

A chorus of boos cut him off before he could finish the sentence, as Tallmadge twisted the handle and blade in an attempt to free it from the coconut’s snare. With a cry of triumph, it came free - or at least, the handle did.

The blade was still stuck in the fruit.

“Tallmadge, you _fool_ ,” Tilghman groaned. “You owe me the cost of repair.”

“I’ll buy you a new one, Tilghman,” Laurens offered, as Tallmadge finally extracted the blade - twisted in a way that ruined it for any further use barring a visit to a smith.

“The best and brightest of Washington’s army,” Meade laughed, “defeated by the defences of an enemy they never thought they’d encounter.” They all began to laugh at the thought that, despite the rigours of the military and the depth of their education, it seemed none of their minds was equal to the task of taking apart a coconut.

As the giggles began to subside, Laurens spotted a familiar figure - holding his own coconut to his mouth. “Hamilton!” Laurens called out, “Join us in our misery!”

The man in question came over, an expression of confusion on his face. He brought the coconut to his face as he walked over - Laurens noted that he had removed the top somehow, and seemed to be… _drinking_ from it?

“Misery?” He asked, as he took a seat. “What are you going on about?”

“The _coconuts_ ,” Lafayette lamented. “We shall never get them open, never feast on their flesh - do coconuts _have_ flesh, or are they more like, uh, _les grenades_ , where you suck the seeds?”

Hamilton had an expression of confusion on his face that Laurens had seen before, but never on Hamilton’s face, for it was usually directed _at_ him: it was the look of curious bewilderment that emerged when one was so certain that a piece of knowledge was so common as to be universal, only to find someone ignorant of it. It was a look that said _how could you possibly have journeyed through the world with open eyes and_ not _encountered this before?_

Why Hamilton was wearing it now, was anyone’s guess.

“It’s... “ Hamilton, for once, seemed lost for words. “It’s a _coconut_ ,” he said carefully, with a strange lilt on the word - as if he were trying to imitate the way they had pronounced the name of the fruit. He examined their faces, one by one, the expression on his own face growing stronger with each glance. “Did-- have _none_ of you had one before?”

“Have _you_?” Meade countered.

“Of course.” Hamilton sounded almost affronted. “What have you all been doing for the past half-hour, then?”

“Making a valiant effort,” Laurens replied, gesturing towards the broken knife and the cause of their troubles.

Hamilton bit off a laugh at the sight of the knife. “Anyone got one that’s a more sensible size?”

A knife with a longer blade was handed to him, and he set his own coconut down on the table. “It’s quite simple,” he said, as he made some quick slashes, faster than any beginner could hope to learn from.

He split the fruit in half, scraping off something white and translucent from inside. “This is the part you eat,” he instructed, taking a spoonful.

Laurens had evidently decided this was enough instruction, and took one of his own knives to the remains of Tilghman’s coconut. He made a slash in the manner of Hamilton, hard and fast - or made an attempt, at least, only to give a shout as liquid splashed up at him.

“Careful!” Hamilton called, too late to do anything other than emphasise Laurens’ failure. “You’ll spill the--” it had already spilled out, over the ground and Laurens’ trousers “--water.”

The remaining aides stared at the fruit. “Why is there water inside it?” Tallmadge asked.

Hamilton stared at him. “It’s… a coconut. The water-- that’s half the point.”

“The point?” Lafayette, this time, matching the expression of his fellows. There was evidently something here that Hamilton knew that the rest did not, and neither could work out where such a division had occurred.

“The -- why you would break one open.” Hamilton paused, seeming to remember that none of them were familiar with these fruits. “You drink it. Nothing like it after a hot day.”

Laurens offered the slightly-dripping fruit back to Tilghman. “Here, broken open for you.”

Tilghman took the fruit, scraping some of the flesh from inside as Hamilton had done. He gave a surprised “ _Mmm!_ ” as he put it in his mouth. “It’s quite good!”

Laurens picked up his own coconut and examined the knife. “And how would one go about extracting the juice?”

Hamilton took the knife and coconut - without so much as a by-your-leave - and gave a few swipes at the top to bring it to a point. “Like so,” he said, rotating the fruit and giving it a few taps, removing the top.

He offered the fruit to Laurens, who took a sip of the water, only to struggle not to choke as Hamilton scooped some of the flesh from his own fruit with his fingers and brought it to his mouth, licking the whiteness from around his lips. “Is it not to your taste?” Hamilton asked, the picture of innocence.

Laurens met his eyes in challenge, following a drop of the juice that had escaped from his lips with his tongue and returning it to his mouth with an unnecessary motion. “On the contrary,” he replied, “I find it quite… _invigorating_.”

**Author's Note:**

> look. i have no idea whether or not any of them would have encountered coconuts before, but given that most of the aides were like, entitled rich boys, they probably wouldn't have had to cut them open themselves.  
> (also, i low-key want coconut stories to become a fandom subgenre in the same way that banana stories became a subgenre in the mcu. because i mean, we've got the whole burr thing, right?)
> 
> eta: i made [a post](http://rowingviolahere.tumblr.com/post/149890660006/much-the-same-way-that-laurens-had-been-surprised) that you can reblog on tumblr if you'd like.


End file.
